Under Mighty Bows
by frigginapplepie
Summary: The low hanging branch on the large sycamore tree was the perfect spot to just sit and relax, or so Sirius thought. To him, the wide boughs that surrounded him took place of his mother and embraced him when no one else would.


The low hanging branch on the large sycamore tree was the perfect spot to just sit and relax, or so Sirius thought. Under the consuming shadows of the leaves, the gray-eyed boy found that his troubles were insignificant, and that anything could happen, no matter how far-fetched or unrealistic they seemed. To him, the wide boughs that surrounded him took place of his mother and embraced him when no one else would.

And for that reason, he decided that it was the perfect time to show Regulus his secret, most treasured location in the small world he knew.

"This is it," Sirius announced when the younger boy emerged from behind the shrubbery nearby. He gestured towards the towering height of the tree, dense branches spread every which way, posing as a shelter for those who settled beneath it.

"You drug me all the way out here for this?" Regulus snapped, brushing at a stray stick that had taken up residence in his hair. He struggled with it for a moment before Sirius made his way towards him, extending his hands to work the stubborn pest out of his hair with a muttered, "Here."

Regulus shook free from Sirius's touch the moment that the twig came loose, and made his way towards the seat that the gray-eyed eleven year old so often found himself sitting upon. Again, Regulus asked, "Is this it?"

Heaving a sigh, the older of the boys made his way to the base of the sycamore, where he sat down heavily, back against the hard wooden trunk. "Yes, Regulus, this is it," he groaned.

Regulus sat down next to him, tucking his legs beneath his body. "I thought that it was going to be something, you know, cool. Not just a tree."

"Sorry that it's not good enough for you," Sirius said venomously, attempting to remain calm.

It was his last day at Grimmauld before he left to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Regulus just couldn't resist tormenting his brother before being left to himself. While being younger by two years had its perks, he was ruing it more than anything at the moment.

There was a moment of quiet before Regulus realized that it was up to him to say something. "It's not that it isn't good enough," he began unsurely, but was cut off when Sirius stood up.

"Save it, Reg," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes were hidden behind a curtain of dark hair, but the nine-year-old knew what he would see if they weren't: hurt, betrayal, desperation. "I know what you're going to say," he continued, "and I get enough of it from everyone else. Just save your breath, will you?"

Regulus flared indignantly. "Don't tell me when to stop talking, Sirius! You're not Mum or Dad. You can't tell me what to do."

"I never said I was," he replied. "Why would I want to be like them anyways?"

"Sirius, that's not what I –"

"Regulus, I don't want to hear it."

The note in Sirius's voice was alarming to the blue-eyed boy, and he bit his tongue before he could think up a proper comeback. It didn't take long for him to realize that his brother was no longer standing just to the side of him, but rather was now swinging his leg up and over the limb of the sycamore that had quickly become his place of silent reverie.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, you know," Sirius said quietly, his dark hair falling in front of his gray eyes, once more concealing them.

"Yeah." Regulus's head fell, his chin resting on his tiny collarbone.

"You don't want me to leave you," Sirius droned on, as though reading his emotions was as easy as reading a text book. He caught the sound of the little boy inhaling sharply, and knew instantly that no one was supposed to understand how he felt. "Why?" he continued, forcing Regulus into talking about the only thing he didn't want to. He waited, knowing the challenge would not go unmet.

"Because…." His voice was small, insignificant against the sudden gust of wind that upset his hair. He waited for the mighty breeze to die out before saying softly, "Because you're my brother…. I don't want to be alone all year."

"You won't be alone," Sirius argued, his own voice monotonous, bored even.

"Who will be with me, then? Not you, Cissy's gone, and Bella's gone and I don't want to play with Andy because she doesn't like me."

"You'll find something to do. You always do."

"But it won't be as fun," Regulus whined. "I won't have anyone to get in trouble, or to do what I want."

"So that's all that I'm good for, then?" Sirius let out a brisk, bark-like laugh. "Then I'm glad that I'm leaving!"

Regulus's face fell, and, without looking, his brother knew that hurt was etched upon it, and that he was preparing himself to get up and leave. "Is that all that you wanted me here for? To tell me that you happy that I'll be miserable? Because if it is, I have better ways to waste my time."

He stood up and brushed the grass from the seat of his pants, attempting to get the bits of dirt out from the woven fabric. He made his way, head held high in pride, concealing his wounded feelings, to the opening in the bushes where they had emerged minutes before.

"Get back over here," Sirius's voice called to him, and he stopped in his tracks.

"What?" he called over his shoulder, refusing to return to his spot. "I think I've heard just about everything you've had to say."

Sirius, however, did not reply, but the silence did more than speak its meaning. Giving in after a moment of hesitation, Regulus folded his arms across his chest and stomped back to his post at the base of the tree, glancing up at his older brother, who still sat on the low branch.

"Well?" the nine-year-old snapped, unwilling to stand around any longer without purpose. "Talk all ready!"

"I'll talk when I'm ready," the gray-eyed boy growled in reply, and Regulus didn't dare say anything after as Sirius shifted in his seat and propped his back against the trunk.

Unfortunately for both of the boys, silence was something that didn't sit well upon their shoulders for long, and at the same time, there was an outburst from the two. From Regulus, a hurried, "I'm going to leave if you don't say something," was ushered forth, while Sirius simply said, "It's yours."

Blinking not once, not twice, but three times, Regulus looked up at his brother's back, facing him from in the tree, and stuttered, "W-what?"

The eleven-year-old sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his dark tresses. "It's yours," he repeated, his voice dripping with hurt and uncertainty. Gesturing around him with an arm, he continued, "This whole area. I want you to take care of it, to have it."

The younger's brows creased, lips drawn in a tight line across his face. "I'm…not following you," he said unhurriedly. "Are you…. Are you touched in the head?"

Sirius had to fight the urge to jump from his perch on the branch and strangle his brother. How could anyone be so daft, as clueless as he was being now? Clenching his teeth and balling his fists tightly as they dangled over his post, he took a deep, steadying breath, forcing himself to remain under control, to realize that Regulus was just trying to get on his nerves, as always.

When he did speak, he was more than startled how calm he sounded, how unfazed he felt, as though a sudden breeze had not only picked up the elements around him, but also his anger and scorn.

"No, Regulus, I'm fine. You, on the other hand, you're not."

The addressed boy stiffened, jaw set and head facing his brother's back. He didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, because it was true.

"You've gone eight years now," Sirius continued, folding his hands and placing them on his chest, "and you still don't get it. Mum and Dad, they're wrong. Bella, Cissy, all of them, they don't have a clue. And you're heading that way. You're going to be wrong as well."

It wasn't what Regulus had been expecting, wasn't anywhere along the lines of what he had been thinking was wrong with him. It was only then that he realized what Sirius was trying to get at.

"I'm not going to become a blood-traitor," he spat, then turned on his heels. "You can do whatever you want, but I'm going."

"Reg, you little good-for-nothing prat, don't you dare take another step or I'll hex you, and you know I will. Just shut-up and listen; I'm out of here tomorrow, you owe me at least that much. I know this isn't going to make any sense to you right now, but someday, I know it will.

"You know how I disappear a lot at home? That's because I'm out here. This place is amazing in every way – it's like a home outside. I guess I first realized that Voldemort is a loony under this tree. And now, I want you to take care of it. It'll be almost a year until I next see you, until I next see home…."

There was a tone in his voice that let Regulus know that by home, he meant the clearing that the blue-eyed boy had tried to many times to leave in the past half an hour. For a brief moment, he felt guilty for his countless escape attempts, but when he realized that a hand was being placed on his shoulder, he blinked out of his silent reverie and looked up at his brother, who had appeared at his side in the period of time that had lapsed.

"It's the greatest place I've ever known," Sirius whispered almost reverently, eyes looking around at the canopy of trees, falling at long last upon the sycamore and its mighty boughs. "And I'm sure you'll come to think that eventually."

He didn't wait for an answer, didn't pause to consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, his words had no effect on James, but rather walked away. Soon, his form was nothing but a blend against the browns and greens of the trail they had walked upon, and the younger was left to himself in the empty space.

Regulus hesitated.

Was he supposed to go for the standing image of earth, or follow the elder of the pair back to home? And if the former, what was he supposed to do – pet it?

He sucked in a deep breath, looking around nervously for a moment before he approached the inheritance of sorts. Tentatively, he reached out a hand, placing his small palm against the rough, expansive surface. It wasn't anything magical, nothing that could easily be remembered into his final years of life; the feeling that swept through him was not but a basic recognition that it was real.

He climbed up, hooking a leg over the low branch, and with a final look around, he leaned into the curve of the wood, and closed his eyes.

He pulled down the branch that concealed him from sight, looking out at the image displayed before him. For a moment, he dared not to believe it, but as soon as he got past the initial reaction, he took it in and drank deep for what it was worth.

With a tender smile and the faintest wrinkle at the corners of his eyes, Sirius murmured, "I knew you'd appreciate it, bro."


End file.
